"Found whom?" exclaimed Moore.

"Him, that man!"

"Great Scott!" said Moore, "you must be sick. What ails you, anyway? Have you been dining at the Club?"

I turned to my friend and said: "Doctor, I've found him at last—that man in the box."

"Well, did not I tell you he ought to be there?" said Moore. "Because you found him, do you think you have accomplished a wonderful piece of work? Of course he was there."

"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about, anyway?" I asked.

Doctor Moore looked at me as though wondering if I were in my right mind, then said: "Stone, I am talking about the gentleman in the box; I said he [Pg 13]should be there; he usually is with those ladies."

[Pg 13]

"Yes," I replied, "it is he!"

"Stone, what's the matter? Come and take something, old man"—and seizing me by the arm, my companion led me away to the nearest cafè, where he watched me closely as he poured out a bracer.

I seized it and said: "Here's to the man in the box! I've found him."

"Of course you found him, old man. I don't see what you are making such a fuss over that fact for; it's not a question of priority."

"No," I said, "it's a question of identity."

"Explain."

"Well, I want to know who he is. He has worried my mind for a month."

"Oh, is that all?" and Moore heaved a sigh of relief; he had been genuinely anxious about me, that was plain.

"Have you run up against him anywhere?" he asked.

"No, he ran up against me," I answered.

"Here, sit down," said Moore. "What, in heaven's name, has got into you?" [Pg 14]

[Pg 14]

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